There can be no more dependable indicator that we now all inhabit (or delude ourselves into believing we inhabit) a Philip K. Dick universe (or the shoddy simulacrum thereof) than the appearance of this mammoth volume of Dick’s journals, letters, and private stream-of-consciousness essays, which he voluminously generated for a full eight years following his infamous mind-blasting, soul-shattering, paradigm-upsetting cosmic epiphany of 1974. Only waves of patented PKD-style reality distortion could have landed us in our contemporary situation.
Revelations and riches in a memoir from a pioneer of pulp fiction and a new collection of journals from an SF icon. Review by Paul Di Filippo.
The joke that all writers are crazy for choosing a profession with so little glamour or guaranteed return on investment is an old one, but it’s not that funny when you consider how many writers actually did or do suffer from mental disorders, from depression to something more complex. Anyone struggling with mental health faces a huge challenge in their […]